


a novel idea

by Granspn



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Multi, treasure island whom? i dont know her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-06 18:40:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granspn/pseuds/Granspn
Summary: I mean, we all seem to have collectively agreed that the events of Treasure Island are little more than fantasy at this point. So here's another account of how things might have gone down given all the lovely, lovely context we have now."Jim walked all night, guided only by the faint light of the stars, replaying Billy’s last moments over and over in his head. When the sun finally began to rise, he unfurled the scroll and examined the image upon it. It appeared to be a map all right, but it didn’t lead anywhere Jim had seen on any atlas."





	1. the curse of the black spot, or long gone quiver

**Author's Note:**

> Pay no attention to the gratuitous exposition behind the curtain, by which I mean that comprises most of this chapter. Never fear, all our faves are soon to come!

1726, Bristol, England.

 

Jim Hawkins was having just about the strangest day of his life. Strange actually didn’t really cut it but he was so fucking thrown by the whole thing that he wasn’t exactly processing it fully. It had started normally enough, Billy drinking himself silly in the little country tavern where Jim worked, raving about his exploits as a fear striking and shit stirring pirate. Jim didn’t believe half the stories Billy proclaimed to the tavern at large; it would mean believing he’d survived being thrown into the sea not once but twice, sailed under the most bloodthirsty pirate captain on the seven seas, fought wars against England and Spain, and lived to tell the tale without embellishing whatsoever. Jim had indulged him, of course; the madman was good company and deserved nothing less than their hospitality. But he’d never in a million years imagined he’d get wrapped up in one of old Captain Bones’ ludicrous tales. 

It had started with a messenger at the tavern. Jim had ditched some dirty dishes behind the counter and answered his knocking at the door.

“Yes?”

“A letter for a Billy Bones,” the messenger boy said with a shrug, “Fella seemed to think I’d find him here.” 

Jim looked over his shoulder to Bones’ usual table. Sure enough, the mad bastard was there with his pint laughing heartily at something some other patron had said. Jim smiled at the messenger, “I’ll take it to him. Cheers,” Jim said, handing him a couple of coins somebody had left on the bar. 

“Letter for you, Captain,” Jim said, handing Billy the slip of paper. Bones looked, his eyes glassy, like he was seeing straight through him. After a moment, his eyes refocused and he took the letter.

“Cheers, you’re a good lad,” he said, digging through his pockets to hand Jim a coin. He accepted it gratefully, then pulled up a chair at Billy’s table, curious what kind of correspondence would have to reach a man this way and not through any official channels. He normally wouldn't pry, especially not if he might anger a temperamental pirate captain, but he knew Billy liked him. Even if his stories weren’t true, they were a right laugh, and if Jim couldn’t go on a real adventure, he liked living vicariously through Billy’s well enough. 

As Billy tore open the letter and stared at its contents, Jim actually took a good look at him. In his mind’s eye, the old captain had lived for the better part of sixty years, but up close it was clear that wasn’t quite true. His beard aged him, and his face was weathered by the sun, not to mentioned the myriad tiny scars that plagued much of his exposed skin. Still, he actually appeared to be quite a young man. Tawny hair poked out from beneath his hat, and his muscular arms seemed to stiffen to almost a dangerous degree as he read the letter. Jim furrowed his brow. Dammit, he cared for the bastard. He wondered what had really happened in his life to age him so prematurely. 

“What’s it say?” Jim asked quietly, his concern showing in his tentative tone. Billy shook his head silently and huffed a little laugh, although no smile graced his lips. He placed the slip of parchment on the table and slid it over to Jim. He picked it up, expecting to read of an old lover scorning him or an angry ex-shipmate seeking repayment of a debt. Instead it was blank, save for a dark black dot about an inch in diameter in the middle of the page. Well, Jim thought, Bones has really lost his this time. Going mental over a little drawing. 

“I always knew this day would come,” Billy said in Jim’s general direction, but with an air of talking past him rather than to him. 

“What?”

“I’ve been marked for death.”

“Oh.” 

Jim sat quietly for a moment like that answered his question. 

“Sorry, what?” Jim asked again.

“It’s the curse of the black spot. It’s how a pirate lets you know you’re his next victim. It’s plagued men like me for generations. I even issued a few myself once upon a time. Me and that…” he trailed off, mumbling something that sounded like “long gone quiver,” whatever the hell that meant. 

“So it’s just a threat,” Jim reasoned, “But you’re a fearsome pirate! You could run away and hide, or fight them off, whoever’s coming after you.”

“Alas, young Jim, the curse of the black spot is a certainty. This will surely be my last day on earth,” Billy said, that far off look returning to his gaze. He then took a large swig of swill before leaning in and meeting Jim’s eyes with startling clarity. “It’s ‘cause I’ve got something they all want, bloodthirsty buccaneers from all seven seas,” Billy said, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he spoke. He opened his jacket slightly and indicated to Jim a little scroll poking out of his inside pocket. 

“What’s that?” Jim asked in almost a whisper.

“A treasure map,” Billy answered, even quieter, his eyes glinting deviously. Oh, Jim realized, this whole thing is just a crazy fantasy. The curse, the pirates, the treasure. One of Billy’s mad delusions. 

“Oh,” Jim said, with a small sigh, dissolving that invisible bond which had been drawing them together and instead settling back in his chair. He hadn’t realized how far he’d leaned in, totally taken in by Bones’ tale, “All right, Captain Bones,” Jim said, clapping him on the shoulder as he stood up to clear more tables and scrub some dishes before the next wave of patrons arrived. Billy always seemed to resign himself to Jim’s fond disbelief of his stories and this time was no exception. That far-off look returned to his eyes this time with an added fondness.

“Oh, Jim. You’ll see,” Bones said, nodding, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond Jim’s head, “Another pint, if you get the chance, sonny. A man has a right to the last meal of his choice, don’t you think?”

“Don’t say such things, Billy, you’ll scare off all out customers,” Jim said with a chuckle, picking up his empty cup to be refilled nonetheless. 

“That’s a good lad, that’s a good lad,” Billy said with a smile, repeating it still as Jim walked away. He pitied the old captain, but a small part of him was starting to wonder if he hadn’t been speaking the truth all along. 

 

***

 

Jim had managed to banish all thoughts of pirates and sought after treasure maps as the after-dinner rush filled the tavern to the brim. This, in hindsight, had been unwise. But how was he to foresee a ravenous group of pirate raiders plundering the inn, slashing their swords through his innocent patrons and friends in pursuit of some unknown and thoroughly unwarranted goal? Hiding behind the bar for dear life, he figured he knew exactly how he should have foreseen it. If a pirate wants you dead they aren’t exactly about to perform a stealth operation, are they? Pirates, he remembered, weren’t known for their skillful assassinations. More like sacking entire cities and slaughtering any innocent who stands in the way of the prize they seek. He peered over the counter at the ensuing melee, and seeing his chance, fled up the stairs when no one was looking, hoping to find a room in the inn upstairs to wait out the battle in relative safety. 

He dashed into the first unlocked room he came across and bolted the door behind him, his hands shaking and his breath rapid. He turned around and leaned against the door, closing his eyes and throwing his head back in a brief moment of relief. 

“Jim, lad!” He heard a raspy voice exclaim, followed by a series of hacking coughs. 

“Captain Bones!” 

“Aye, ’tis,” said the old pirate, “Come here, Jim, would you, and grant a dying man his final wish?”

“But Captain, you’re not,” Jim hesitated, “You’re not going to die,” he said, choking back a small but sudden sob. 

“Aye, Jim, I am,” Billy had been slumped against the bed, but he leaned forward to reveal a slash along his back, a deep cut from a sword. 

“What do you want me to do?” Jim asked weakly, kneeling at Billy’s side. 

“Take this,” Bones said slowly, pulling that scroll out from his jacket pocket, “and run. You’ll be safe. They’ll never suspect anything.”

“All right, I will,” Jim said, gripping it firmly before stashing it safely in his own pocket.

“But beware,” Billy said with what Jim could hardly believe were about to be his final breaths, “Beware the one-legged pirate.” 

“What?” Jim asked. He’d never been so far out of his depth, “What? Billy! Captain Bones!” Jim called out. But there was no reply. 

And so Jim found himself leaping out the second story window with a rather undignified yelp and running as fast as he could in any direction. And it was good he did, since after only a few paces he saw the tavern, the inn, his home, erupt in flames. Whether on purpose in a fire set by a pirate or merely an accident of a fallen lamp or candle, his whole world was burning down. So Jim kept running. When his legs and his lungs were both screaming out for relief, Jim finally stopped his sprinting but kept moving at a slow but steady walk. With every step he felt himself leaving further behind the only life he’d ever known, but refused to let himself dwell on it. He just kept walking, keeping a tight hold on the scroll in his pocket. He walked all night, guided only by the faint light of the stars, replaying Billy’s last moments over and over in his head. When the sun finally began to rise, he unfurled the scroll and examined the image upon it. It appeared to be a map all right, but it didn’t lead anywhere Jim had seen on any atlas. 

The night had been cold, so Jim let himself be warmed by the rising sun for hours until it sat high in the sky. Eventually exhaustion began to catch up to him. He hadn’t wandered far from civilization, and his eyes fell to a tavern sign, comfortingly familiar to the one he’d just lost. The “Thirty Pieces” had a charming hand painted sign, with the tavern name in fat ornate letters and a little silver crown each painted above the first “T” and final “S.” Without thinking how it would be quite early for a tavern to be open, Jim pushed open the light wooden door. Chimes jingled, causing the barkeep to peer up at him from where he’d been leaning against the wall behind the counter, meeting Jim’s eyes over the _Farley’s Bristol News-Paper_ he’d been reading. Or rather, he would’ve met Jim’s eyes, but Jim was all too aware of the familiar far-off look he himself was wearing. 

“Good morning,” the barkeep said, white teeth shining through a winning smile, startling Jim out of his little trance. His eyes were shockingly blue, which Jim was thankful for, as meeting them caused him to focus instead of remaining somewhere else. “You look like you could use a drink,” White-Teeth-Winning-Smile-Blue-Eyes said, setting down his paper and beginning to pull his mop of curly hair into something resembling order. Jim thought of Billy’s coin, sitting nearly forgotten in Jim’s trouser pocket, nestled next to the map he couldn’t stop remembering, and nodded. He hoisted himself heavily onto a stool at the bar.

“Actually,” Jim said, “I’d just about kill a man for a glass of water.”

White-Teeth-Winning-Smile-Blue-Eyes regarded Jim for a moment. Jim had the sudden impression he was being read like a book. Instead of allowing himself to care he just met the barkeep’s gaze with one of equal significance.

“Well,” White-Teeth-Winning-Smile-Blue-Eyes said, “Coming right up.” He slapped a hand down on the bar to punctuate his sentiment before reaching for a crutch resting to his side and heading off to fetch Jim’s order. Jim was dimly aware that he’d been warned against a one-legged man but before the barkeep returned Jim had laid his head on the counter and fallen immediately asleep. 


	2. let me tell you a story about a spaniard named vazquez, or makeshift island, skeleton crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no, it couldn't possibly be more exposition! actually, it could. let's be honest, is the plot of this story why any of us are actually here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i have a real plan for this story? not as such. am i having a hell of a good time winging it? absolutely.

Jim finally awoke what must have been a few hours later, judging by the height of the sun in the sky. 

“Good morning,” a soft female voice said to him in an accent he didn’t quite recognize. She had replaced White Teeth behind the bar and slid him some water as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 

“Morning. Thank you,” Jim mumbled. He was then startled out of his morning fog by a loud squawking and a brightly colored mass swooping toward his head.

“Captain!” The woman scolded what turned out to be a bird of some sort, “Shoo! You can’t be in here! John!” She called behind her, “Please get your parrot out of this dining establishment!”

“Right away, love,” answered a voice from the back, and after some clattering, White Teeth, or rather, John, appeared. “Ah, good morning,” he said to Jim once he saw him awake, but carried on past the bar, leaning heavily on his crutch as he outstretched his other arm for the parrot to perch on. “Come along, Captain,” he said, “Out you go.” He made his way to the tavern door with the bird in tow, and once he opened it, he gladly flew away, but not without emitting another startlingly loud screech. 

“I do apologize for the Captain,” John said, once he’d situated himself behind the bar again, “Sometimes he gets a bit lonely and we have to remind him that he really does belong out in the wild. And not contaminating our food.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim said, suddenly feeling as if he’d never been more awake. “So sorry about, um, that,” he said, indicating his general imposition on their hospitality, “You’re very kind for not throwing me out. You would not believe the night I’ve had.” He had no idea why he was about to spill his guts to these two perfect strangers, but something about them was begging him for his story. Besides, they’d been kind enough to let him sleep, even if it was against the hard wooden bar. 

“Is that so?” John asked, “Say, kid, how old are you, eighteen?”

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” Jim said with a laugh, before he realized he’d just branded himself a liar, or at the very least a concealer of the truth. He wasn’t sure that was a path he really wanted to go down. Still, it wasn’t much use being a sixteen year old kid with a maximum of two marketable skills and about five shillings to his name. So he made sure to reestablish his smile before continuing the conversation. His brain had already jumped three steps ahead to securing a job here and seeking out a room, nevermind his next meal. 

“Why don’t you tell us your name, and then tell us about your night?” The woman asked, sounding friendly, even caring. 

“Er, it’s Jim,” he answered, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, “Jim Hawkins.” She smiled warmly.

“Madi Scott,” she answered, extending a hand and delivering a firm handshake. Their gazes moved to John, who flashed a grin.

“Most folks call me Silver,” he said, his grin now verging into the devious, “Long John Silver.” He didn’t offer a hand as both were in use, supporting him as he leaned against the bar. A flicker of recognition flashed across Jim’s memory but he couldn’t make a connection. He chalked it up to all the stress and adrenaline of the previous evening and let out a little involuntary sigh at the thought.

“So,” Silver continued, “What could possibly have happened to make you wind up in this state in my humble tavern, Mr. Hawkins?”

“Well, if I’m completely honest,” Jim started, speaking precisely as the realizations were occurring to him, “a man died in my arms last night. A friend of mine. As his dying wish, he left me something which is either very, very valuable, or entirely useless. At first, I thought he was crazy, imagining the whole thing, but then, we got raided by pirates. Pirates!” 

At this, Silver and Madi exchanged either a shocked look of fear or a furtive glance, Jim wasn’t quite sure. Still, he wasn’t sure was two Bristol bartenders could have to do with a handful of pirate raiders. So he went on. 

“Billy was sure they were after him. Said they put a curse on him. So he gave me this, this, well? Fuck it. He says he gave me a treasure map. As if that could possibly be true. But there they were, pirate raiders attacking us! He said they wanted his map, wanted his treasure. Well, he said it was somebody called Flint’s treasure, but that he was the only one left who knew how to get it, now that Flint’s dead and gone, murdered by his old quartermaster.”

“Is that so?” Silver asked, but Jim was on a roll, undisturbed by Silver’s grave tone. 

“Yeah,” Jim answered definitively, “So I took it from him and right as I did, right as he was about to die, he warned me, he says ‘Beware of the one-legged pirate,’” Jim said in an effective imitation of Billy’s raspy voice, “Whatever that means.” Jim paused for breath. Silver scoffed.

“A one-legged pirate? Sounds impossible.” He glanced at Madi again.

“This Billy?” she said, “sounds completely mad.” They both seemed too thoroughly unfazed by the story to be reacting honestly, but Jim didn’t have any way to call them on it. It was just plain weird. But then, he supposed, he was being quite a far cry from normal at this particular moment, too. 

“So anyway,” Jim went on, “old Captain Bones goes and dies right there in my bloody arms like I’m straight out of some adventure novel and I had to run away! I jumped out of the window like and absolute madman and just ran, as far as my legs would take me. In the distance...” Jim trailed off as he remembered the sight of the tavern in flames.

“What is it?” Silver asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“It burned down. The tavern I worked at. The inn where I slept. Destroyed by the pirates. All to steal a piece of meaningless parchment from a raving lunatic!” With that, he slammed the scroll down on the bar with a less than satisfying soft thump. He put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes as Madi put an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

“My god,” she murmured, “my god.” Silver, on the other hand, was eyeing the scroll suspiciously.

“Say, Jim,” he began, “I used to be something of a sailor myself. You wouldn’t mind if I had a look at that map, now would you?” He had a sincere expression on his face, though Jim got the unsettling sense that he’d have been able to invoke one regardless of the circumstance. But after another moment’s consideration, he decided to answer in the positive.

“Why the hell not.” 

Slowly, Silver’s ring-adorned fingers traced the bar until he reached the scroll, handling it carefully, as though he felt it might explode at any moment. He unfurled it and his eyes danced across the page. His expression was unreadable and he was silent for an unbearably long moment. Jim hadn’t realized how much he’d been hoping that the map actually meant something. That Billy hadn’t died for nothing. That his life could possibly have meaning again. He scolded himself for getting his hopes up. Billy was at worst raving madman, at best and old sea captain grown eccentric with age, and there was no chance in hell that map led anywhere. 

Instead, however, Silver said, “Wow.” 

“What?” Jim asked excitedly, his troubles forgotten for one blessed second, “What is it? Do you know it? That island?” 

“I – ” Silver hesitated for a moment, but then, “Yes. Yes, I believe I do.”

“You’re kidding me! It’s a miracle!” Jim celebrated, for what he wasn’t sure, before he was hit with a sudden realization, “So that means Billy wasn’t crazy. The whole time he was telling the truth and I never believed a word of it! My god,” Jim said to himself. 

“You shouldn’t believe every story you hear, Jim,” Madi said, as Silver continued to examine the map. 

“Wait,” Silver said, “What do you care if this map leads anywhere? You weren’t planning to sail for this treasure, were you?” He asked accusingly. 

“Well, I don’t know,” Jim hedged, the continued wistfully, “I don’t really have the means to, you know, at present, but maybe someday. It’s what Billy would’ve wanted.”

“What do you know about what Billy would have wanted?” Silver snapped.

“What do you know about it?” Jim asked, thoroughly confused.

“Nothing, nothing, I just-” Silver stopped before constructing whatever defense he’d been planning. He leaned heavily on his right hand and used the other to clap Jim on the shoulder, “I’m sorry, kid. I suppose I’ve had a long, er, week as well.” Jim continued to eye him suspiciously. There was no way this was Billy’s one-legged pirate, right? No way. No. Way. At. All. 

“You know,” Madi began, glossing over whatever exactly had just taken place, “If you did want to go after that treasure,” she placed her pointer finger on the bar in front of Jim, “You have come to exactly the right place. We used to know an excellent naval tactician, really, he was quite a good friend of ours. Just the kind of man who could navigate for an essentially uncharted island like this one. Frankly, I can think of nothing I’d like more than to ask his help is seeking this destination indicated on your map.” 

“What?” Jim asked, incredulous, but it was nothing compared to the wide-eyed stare Silver was giving her.

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I think this is an excellent opportunity,” she said, fixing Silver with a meaningful look. It looked to Jim like those two were communicating in some other plane of existence, one he couldn’t access no matter how hard he tried, as if he were a square trying to reach into the third dimension. After a few moments of astral conversation, they seemed to reach a conclusion. 

“Are you a seeker of adventure, Jim?” Silver asked him. A strange question at the best of times but today it was almost painfully average. 

“More than anything,” he answered honestly. 

“Then I have to write a letter. But if I were you, I would start preparing for one.” 

 

***

 

Silver had warned that the letter would have little meaning to Jim and promised he wasn’t trying to hide anything by not including him in the drafting process. Still Jim insisted on peering over his shoulder as he penned it, curious for this brief insight into the enigmatic world of adult life. However, Silver had been right. The letter was perfectly nonsensical. 

 

_James,_

 

_Soon we will be en route to Makeshift Island with a skeleton crew._

 

_Please advise._

 

_Barring your correspondence, the princess and I are prepared to sail for Savannah._

 

_Urs,_

_LJS_

 

The first issue, to Jim’s mind, was that this letter was addressed to Manhattan, in New York, which was surely where they would be sailing, “barring correspondence,” and decidedly not, as Silver had written, to Savannah. Also, he was quite sure this mysterious island in the middle of the Caribbean was not called “Makeshift.” He understood Silver to be employing some sort of code but felt he truly had no hope of deciphering it. This navy sailor must have been quite good friends with him if he was expected to understand what in the hell he was on about. 

While Silver and Madi discreetly planned their escape, coordinating vacation days with the tavern owner and writing to secure crewmen for their impending voyage, Jim had been tasked with posting the letter. He must have read this address one million times during his walk to the post office. 

 

Capt. McGraw

175 Claremont Ave. 

Manhattan, NY

 

He wondered who this fabled captain was, and why Madi was so certain he would help them dig up an equally fabled buried treasure. Despite the seemingly unending stream of uncertainties which now comprised Jim’s daily life, he was exceedingly excited. He felt guilty, to be so happy about opportunities which only came about as the result of such devastating destruction, but he couldn’t stop himself. Perhaps, he thought, he was starting to understand what the pirate life was all about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soon to come: flinthamilton and what the hell madi is actually up to :)))


	3. history is happening in manhattan, or decidedly not his wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> despite how many weird things about colonial new york I googled, this is still not really historically accurate. i think we can all still have a good time though.

During their initial voyage overseas, Silver and Madi revealed irritatingly little information about who the hell they were. The mysterious Captain McGraw had declined to respond, and so Silver and Madi, who was, presumably, the “princess,” were making good on their promise to sail for “Savannah,” which was apparently code for “New York Harbor.” Being around these people was exhausting in the best way, like doing constant mental exercises. Jim figured if he made it out alive at the end of all this at least he’d be a lot smarter to show for it.

Whenever Jim tried to extract some information about their past, they equivocated. Silver claimed he’d been a cook aboard a merchant ship, Madi a free woman born on an island uncharted by the British, in a Maroon camp founded by former slaves. While none of that was particularly implausible, it did little to explain what made the pair so enigmatic. By all accounts, they’d lived precedented lives, and upon meeting, when Silver’s ship washed up on Madi’s shores after a storm, had fallen in love, and moved up to England to start a life together. Jim wondered what they were holding back, or if there was even any semblance of truth to these stories. Still, the last time he’d doubted an old sea-farer he’d have been wise to reconsider, so perhaps he was allowing Silver and Madi quite a bit more benefit of the doubt than they were owed, but he’d been spurned once and didn’t intend to lose this opportunity to further poor judgement. 

Not wanting to be too much of an imposition, Jim did try and keep to himself while on board. The schooner they’d taken was equipped with a well-stocked library containing a seemingly endless collection of adventures for Jim to immerse himself in. Not to mention a smattering of translated continental philosophy that made his head ache even after reading just one paragraph. 

“Having an all right time, Jim?” Silver had asked him one day, from the threshold of Jim’s cabin, “I don’t imagine you’ve done much sailing. Wanted to make sure you’re getting your sea legs,” he continued with a soft smile, leaning against the door frame. 

“It’s not so bad,” Jim answered, laying an inexplicably battered copy of _Two Treatises of Government_ down on the bed next to him. From the illustrations, he’d thought he would’ve preferred _Don Quixote_ , but he didn’t know Spanish. 

“Getting quite a lot of reading done, I see,” Silver said.

Jim shrugged, “I don’t understand most of it. It’s just I’ve never seen this many books in my life before. I didn’t know people spent so much time thinking and writing about such things. I can hardly wrap my mind around half the ideas these philosophers seem to think should be plain intuitive. But there’s plenty of stories that are a bit more, er, fun, I suppose,” Jim said.

“Well I hope you do enjoy them. Our library is of course at your disposal, Mr. Hawkins,” Silver said with an upturn of his lips and a slight bow of the head. 

“So these are all yours, then?” Jim asked.

“Oh, god, no!” Silver barked out a laugh, "I’m much more of a writer of stories than a reader, I suppose. No,” he said wistfully, “it’s Madi’s collection. She’s simply kind enough to share with me.” He looked past Jim, eyes boring holes into the wall behind him.

“That’s very nice,” Jim said awkwardly.

“Yes,” Silver said quietly, then, “Well! It should only be a day or two more till we arrive on the American coast, how thrilling! Prepare yourself, Jim, it’s a whole new world out there.” Silver nodded matter-of-factly and left Jim with his books. They were deceptively light, Jim thought, having carried ten or so in a single trip, for the ideas within them were far too heavy to keep hold of. 

 

***

 

After a small miscalculation with the compass and some stronger winds than anticipated, they blew up against the shores of Brooklyn quite late at night. Eventually they maneuvered their way north and docked in the harbor. Silver commissioned a carriage easily enough; that man, Jim was quickly discovering, seemed able to surmount any obstacle, regardless of how difficult or abnormal. And, Jim was also discovering, New York was nothing like he’d expected. 

He hadn’t actually spent all that much time expecting, as he’d wanted to be a little surprised. The jolt in his stomach every time he imagined walking the cobblestone streets of the little colony was exhilarating, and he knew no image he conjured would be close to accurate. What we was not expecting was for the city to still be bustling with activity well after midnight. Most commerce was conducted downtown, by the port, where you could still see the remnants of Peter Stuyvesant’s wall, but as they rode uptown in the carriage, Jim saw that the taverns were full and parties of jovial people lined the streets. It got quieter and quieter as they continued north, and darker as well, as no lamps lined the streets anymore. There was just a quiet smattering of houses and more stars than Jim has ever seen. Different stars, he thought with awe. 

Silver told the carriage driver to stop, and thanked and paid him for his time. Jim watched as he rode back into the center of town, probably off to pick up some drunk souls and ferry them back to their peaceful cottage elsewhere, unaware that this ride had been anything but that as well. He turned around to see Madi and Silver exchanging more meaningful glances, communicating in that evasive language of context to which Jim was not privy. She linked arms with him so he could lean on her for support as they approached one house. Jim couldn’t see any candles lit and wondered how they would still be able to get their audience with this sailor at this time of night. 

“Come along, Jim,” Madi said. She could do that when she wanted, make her warm, friendly voice emit commands that you couldn’t disobey. Hesitantly, he followed behind the two of them. They approached the door etched with the address Jim remembered from the letter. Silver looked like he was bracing himself but Madi was calm and unreadable. Silver lifted his crutch off the ground and used it to make three resounding knocks on the door. Long moments passed, some of the longest Jim felt he’d ever experienced. Madi clenched her free fist but made no indication that she was thinking of turning back. Who eventually opened the door after what felt like years was not what Jim had expected.

They were greeted by a tall man with greying blond hair and bleary eyes, poorly wielding a curved sword like ones the pirates in the tavern had used. 

“Oh my god,” Madi said.

“Oh my god!” He responded, the sword clattering to the floor beside him, “That was just a precaution, I’m sure you understand,” he said with a small laugh. 

“Never fear,” Silver said. Now _they_ were doing it, Jim thought exasperatedly. That thing, talking without saying anything. Silver’s eyes searched those of this man, explaining, pleading, laughing, until finally he answered. 

“Well,” he said, “why don’t you come in for a cup of tea.”

“Sounds perfect,” Madi replied, and so they were led inside by who Jim presumed was this James he’d been so anticipating meeting. It was so… anticlimactic. And undignified. They’d woken him up in the middle of the night and he’d threatened them, quite badly, at sword point, before ditching his weapon unsheathed in the foyer and offering them tea. Still, it was better than being skewered. Jim shuddered at the memory of Billy’s hacking breaths, the flesh on his back torn beyond repair. 

Once he’d lit a lamp and put the kettle on, the man turned back to face them. Silver had taken a seat at the dining room table but didn’t look relaxed, and Madi was still standing. Jim lingered closer to the front door, not sure of his place in all this. 

“Wow,” the man said, “I mean, we thought you might come. But to hope for it just felt too foolish. Really,” he went on, “it has been far too long since we saw each other last. I don’t believe you’ve visited since Williamsburg.”

“Far too long,” Madi agreed, tentatively taking a seat. 

Inexplicably reading something in the scene, whether it was her actions, or expression, or simply fucking telepathy, the man seemed to realize what why Silver and Madi were so on edge. “Oh, of course! Just a moment. Forgive me, I was just rudely awakened in the middle of the night,” he said, before going toward the staircase and calling upstairs, “Darling! It’s for you!” He looked back to Silver with a fond grin spreading across his face. He hadn’t even acknowledged Jim’s presence, his eyes only flicking back and forth between Silver and Madi, taking them in like they were a fine work of art too beautiful to peel your gaze off of. Then he rolled his eyes slightly as there was a clatter upstairs, the sound, presumably, of his wife coming downstairs to greet their visitors. 

Jim really had to stop expecting things. 

The man that came downstairs was decidedly not his wife. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here,” he began in an amused but gruff voice made all the gruffer by sleep, “And who the hell,” he said, “is that?” He pointed at Jim. He was the first person in the room to notice him since they’d arrived, which made Jim equal parts annoyed and grateful. 

“Oh,” Silver said, “That’s Jim. He’s the one who–”

“I’m the one who has Billy Bones’ treasure map,” Jim said. 

“Is that so?” The second man replied, sounding alarmingly like Silver had when he’d first mentioned Billy. 

“Yes,” Jim said, “and I’ve got it right here. But I don’t intend to show it to you until somebody explains what the hell is going on.” 

After a moment of contemplation, this other man nodded, “Well, I think that’s fair enough. Why don’t you pull up a chair?” It was technically a question, but out of his mouth it sounded like an order, just like when Madi had told him to come along. 

“Good morning, love,” the first man said to him as he passed.

“Is it?” 

“I’ve put the kettle on.  
“I see,” he took a seat at the table across from Jim, but addressed Silver and Madi first, his voice overflowing with something Jim couldn’t identify, some emotion he hadn’t felt yet and so couldn’t place, “Please, don’t underestimate how glad I am to see you to. What I am skeptical of is these particular circumstances, as perhaps you can imagine. A cryptic letter from an old friend drenched in whispers of promised destruction does not a jubilant reunion make. I don’t intend to be all business,” he took a breath and met Silver’s eyes, “but I too will find out the truth before this goes further. So, Jim,” he turned to meet his gaze, “What would you like to know?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for: the reveal of the actual plot of this fic, which i actually intend to get to in the next chapter, if you can believe it


	4. treasure island, or the principle of the thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> did somebody say that stories need a plot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we all just out here trying our best, yknow?

Jim didn’t know where to start. Would be it acceptable to simply say “everything?” No, he thought. Let’s start with the basics. 

“All right. Who are you, who are they, and what are you to each other?” Jim asked desperately, gaining speed with each syllable. 

“Now wait just one second,” Silver interrupted before he had a chance to start, “I’m not about to let you divulge everything for what? For the sake of transparency? No. A lot is at stake here, my friend,” Silver said, his voice hovering somewhere between anger and bargaining. 

“I’m quite sure you can relax,” Silver’s friend said with some severity. “The legend of Flint and Silver is long dead. Transparency won’t be a hindrance.”

“You’re Captain Flint?” Jim all but yelled, but went ignored.

“Can’t we speak to each other first? I’ve seen the map, I know it’s authentic.”

“So you were just gonna toss me aside?” Jim spoke up again, and stood up from his seat, his chair sliding away from him with a loud scrape. 

“Jim,” Silver said quietly, the performance of cordiality discarded for something verging on terrifying, “I’d ask that you please stay out of this.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, John,” the man who’d answered the door interrupted, slamming the teacups he was holding down on the counter, “There is no cache.” 

“What?” The room went silent but for Silver’s breathing. He glanced around him and seemed to notice that he was standing, and so returned to his seat with a thud. He looked to Madi for commiseration, who had the good sense to act surprised, even if Jim could have sworn he didn’t see her react at all at first to the news.

“Is that true?” Jim asked quietly. 

Flint ran a disgruntled hand through his hair, “I’m afraid so.” 

“So what happened to it? I imagine you had something to do with it,” Silver asked, the ferocity fading from his voice into resignation. 

“Well, yes. I secured it. A decade ago. Divvied it up. Took some for myself, obviously, and a second share for this one,” he gestured towards that other man, the last remaining person in the room whose identity Jim did not know, “a sizable portion went to little Abigail Ashe, though she’s not so little anymore. Max. Featherstone and Idelle, for the continued assurance of Nassau’s future. An anonymous donation to Rackham and Bonny, to be sure. And,” Flint had been pacing round the table as he rattled off the list of strangers but now he paused, one hundred and eighty degrees from Madi, and directed his words to her, “Maroon Island,” he said, with a tinge of perverse curiosity as to where this conversation was about to go.

“Ah,” Madi said. Her expression was stoic, but her eyes glinted with a flicker of something more benevolent, “Yes. That does seem to be coming back to me now.” 

“You knew?” Silver asked.

“Yes, I knew,” Madi said, her features hardening. Now it was her turn to rise dramatically from her seat, “Of course I knew. Who do you think I am, John Silver? I did not bring you here to dig up a buried treasure! I brought you here to find closure. You need to atone. And perhaps we need to forgive. But first, we need to have a real goddamn conversation.” She didn’t wait for anyone to respond before smoothing her skirt and sitting back down. 

“Thomas?” She then said, “I would so love that cup of tea.”

“It would be my pleasure,” the no-longer-a-mystery-man said, bringing the pot and cups over and setting them on the table, “I get the sense it’s going to be quite a long night.” 

 

***

 

Hours of conversation passed, but the four of them might as well have been speaking a different language for all that Jim understood. When they’d first sat down, Jim had hung on every word hoping for some semblance of explanation. But he’d been awake for far too long and felt himself fading, his eyes closing involuntarily, and despite himself, he’d lost interest when they began discussing particular figures and the names of boats and islands and politicians he’d never heard of. Guthrie this and Rogers that. Vane this and Barlow that. They even mentioned Billy a few times but not in any context Jim recognized. However, he happened to find himself focused on Silver as he uttered something seemingly innocuous.

“Why do you get to decide the manner in which I deal with my feelings?” 

“Why did you get end our war!” Madi said loudly, far too loudly for the dead of night. She noticed immediately, becoming conscious of her own voice ringing in her ears. She rubbed her hands over her eyes and then down her face, “Do you know what the hell you sound like, John?” She said, quieter this time, sounding more hurt than angry. Jim wondered if that was what you sounded like when you’d been betrayed. 

“No,” Silver conceded, “I suppose not.” He laid his hand over Madi’s where she’d slammed it down on the table, and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and sat down. Flint jerked his chair back and started pacing back and forth. As he passed the window he seemed to note the rising sun with some resignation. 

“I think I am safe in saying,” he began, his voice rough from lack of sleep, “that Madi and I have come to understand why you did what you did, intellectually, emotionally, or in whatever manner you would prefer. I would only hope that you, too, have come to see our points of view, the things you took from us.”

“So you understand that I couldn’t stand to lose you, either of you,” Silver said desperately, “I saved your lives. That much is not to be disputed. That is what I gave you. Whatever I took from you, at least you have had the pleasure of enjoying what I left.” 

“You know full well we were both prepared to die for that cause, John!” Madi said.

“It was never a hypothetical, Madi!” Silver said, slamming his shaking hand down on the table. His teacup rattled ominously from the vibration. “You two were going to die! And I would argue that the brunt of preparation for that outcome rested upon my shoulders. I do not mean to suggest anything about your autonomy and your, your right to self-determination,” Silver rattled off. Jim recognized a few of those buzzwords from the Locke treatise he’d perused on the boat. He didn’t realize people actually talked like that, let alone thought. It was clear that Silver wasn’t filtering his words that extensively. Though he also wondered if a man as calculating as him was even capable of speaking without thinking first. 

“I just mean,” Silver said with a sigh, “that once you two had died, as you almost inevitably would have, only I would be left to suffer that. Not you.” 

“It’s not about you!” Flint grumbled, “It’s about the principle of the thing.” Silver barked out a laugh.

“Oh, principle this, rationality that, as if you ever had anything but your emotions, Captain,” Silver said, practically spitting the honorific, “Any principle was only a byproduct of your rage. Rage, which, I’ll remind you, I believe to be sufficiently quelled,” he finished with a deliberate glance at Thomas. Jim truly wished he knew what the fuck they were talking about.

“What’s that?” Thomas said, looking at Jim. Only then did he realize he’d actually vocalized that last sentiment. 

“Well?" Jim said, "It’s just, it looks like adult life is a lot more complicated than I thought it was gonna be.” Jim wondered if the worried look he knew he bore would ever leave his face. The entire room seemed to let out a collective exhale. Which devolved into Madi giggling delicately for a moment before breaking out into genuine hearty laughter.

“I think you’ll find this particular story to be far from average, young Jim,” Thomas said with a smile, patting him encouragingly on the shoulder as he stood up and began clearing dishes. Even Flint’s grave expression has softened.

“I resent that, you know,” he said to Silver, sounding tired. 

“What’s that?” Silver said, looking like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes, his voice residing somewhere in the grey area between bitter and fondness that Jim wouldn’t have guessed existed.

“Principles. Even if it took a great loss to realize them, I had principles. I’d devoted my life to serving what I believed to be a good cause, and I did, up until the moment I figured out I wasn’t.” 

“I–” Silver began, but he stopped himself and looked down, smiling more to himself than anyone else, “Yes, yes, that’s true. I’m truly sorry I said that,” Silver said, sounding genuine for one. He sat still for another moment, nodding to himself in silent assent of a proposition only he could hear. “It is true, James. You’re a good man. More people should say that.” 

Thomas seemed to stiffen momentarily at Silver’s words. Silver’s fingers absently traced patterns on the table as his eyes slowly drifted up to meet Flint’s. Flint’s eyes scanned the whole of Silver while he formulated his next thought, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything. 

“I think I’ve just had an idea.” 

It was Thomas, leaning against the counter in the corner of the dark kitchen. Everyone’s gaze turned to him as he straightened his posture, taking a step forward. 

“But,” he continued, “I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

 

***

 

“What the hell?!” Flint pivoted out of his chair to face Thomas.

“It’s just an idea.”

“Back on the account?”

“If you’d allow me to explain, darling.”

“It’s lunacy.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

“Oh, shut up.” Flint said, smirking slightly. He reached out like he was going to touch Thomas, to grab him by the shoulders or shake his hand or, or something, but instead his fingers just twitched in midair and he returned to his seat. 

“So, that’s madness,” Silver said, sounding energized by the apparent ridiculousness of the situation.

All Thomas had said was, “I think Captain Flint and Long John Silver have to sail together again.” Jim had thought that was exactly what they had been planning all along. Apparently, he’d been mistaken. 

“Actually,” Madi said, “I’d like to hear him out.”

“Thank you, my lady. Glad someone around here sees sense,” he said, his grin almost devious. 

“Fine, Thomas, what precisely are you proposing we do?”

“I am proposing, James,” he said with a slight bow of his head, “That you have an opportunity now to dictate in part your own legacies. Consider this, word of Billy’s death will spread among the relevant circles. People will begin to expect action of some sort. Imagine the impact if Captain Flint were to rise from the dead a second time.”

As usual, Jim wondered what the hell that meant. But just listening to Thomas talk was so utterly captivating he wasn’t really bothered. 

“I’m not really in the market for revenge these days, you know,” Flint said.

“And that is precisely what I’m talking about,” Thomas said, his eyes bright with innovation.

“How’s that?” 

“The current canon of literature of piracy would dictate that were you two to reemerge, you would seek revenge on poor old Billy, the one who wronged you so many years ago, in a pitiful attempt to assert your dominance over mankind. What you instead need to do is reemerge, subvert the expectation, and demonstrate to the world, to the king, what it truly means to be a pirate.” 

“And just what does it mean?” Silver asked quietly, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

“It means intentionality. It means purpose. It means critical thinking in a time when we are meant to defer our judgments to the King and his parliament without a second’s autonomous thought. And here, a practical demonstration. Jim!” Thomas said.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps no more than a fortnight ago, did the fearsome names of Flint and Silver mean anything to you?”

“Well, no,” Jim answered honestly, “I’d only heard horror stories about Captain Flint from Billy, but I’d truly thought he was mad until, er, well until quite recently, as you say.”

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas said, smiling in his direction, “So you see, ten years ago, the names of Silver and Flint stoked fear into the hearts of the hardest men. They have since faded from the collective consciousness. It is time to redefine what those names invoke, and redefine the institution of piracy itself.”

“It’s an institution now?” Silver said, “You can’t be serious.”

“Listen,” Thomas went on, “What they’ve written about men like you,” he said, “even the goddamned history books, they paint pirates as inhuman beasts, arbitrarily and heartlessly dealing out cruelty against innocent royal subjects. It’s our duty to show that’s a false image, to demonstrate your roles as men enacting reciprocation of cruelty already dealt.”

Even the layest of laymen would have to admit Thomas knew how to construct one hell of a sentiment. 

“So what exactly are you suggesting?” Madi asked, trying to pry the heart of it out of him, “What would they accomplish sailing under the black again?”

“They only need to make one more voyage. One more prize. A smart one. You and I know full well they are capable of choosing wisely, of sending a message with whose and what ship they elect to hunt. Which is, of course, where Jim and I come in.”

“Of course,” Jim said.

“Of course,” Thomas echoed definitively. “It is what is written about this voyage that shall make all the difference. This will be no Johnson’s _General History_ , my friends. This will be a novel. An embellishment on the truth designed to evoke just that. All a legend needs to be effective is a seed of reality, which our illustrious pirates will provide. Yet within it, we illuminate the true character of the pirates of Nassau, with the necessary input of an impressionable and unbiased youth, and my excellent, er, penmanship," he said with a flourish, meaning perhaps to indicate the quality of the content of his writing and not merely its appearance. 

"And then, and this is the rub, truly, Captain Flint and Long John Silver are to resign into the annals of fiction, leaving you two free to live however and as whomever you should like.” With that, Thomas nodded as if this was all perfectly intuitive, and returned to his perch on the kitchen counter. 

Everyone gaped at him, wide eyed. 

“When the hell did you have time to think of all that?” Flint mumbled.

“Well, you all argued for quite some time, my dear.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” 

“Well, what do you think?” Thomas posed to the room at large. 

Silver’s eyes wandered back down the table.

“Whose banner are we to sail under?”

“Well, James’, of course.”

“Of course,” Silver repeated quietly. 

“You aren’t seriously considering this, are you?” Flint said.

“James, You and I know better than anyone the power of the narrative. A story is almost always more potent than the truth. What this would accomplish, well, it’s not all that dissimilar from what’s been your goal all along. The acknowledgment of reality by all those who prefer to ignore it, who choose to see a reality of their own making instead of what objectively is the case.” Silver laughed a little, his eyes still cast down. Then he looked up, his eyes dancing from Thomas to Flint, his small smile widening. “Yes. I think I get what you see in him.” 

Thomas’ fair cheeks reddened slightly. 

“Really, Mr. Hamilton," Silver continued, "You have quite a way with words. Not unlike myself. Besides, I never met a scheme I didn’t want to get wrapped up in. It’s a curse, truly. I see an opportunity, I have to take it.” Silver’s eyes flickered with recognition, like he was trying to make a mental note of something. Flint, on the other hand, turned a pleading gaze to Madi. However, she replied simply.

“You heard the man.” 

“Yes, that I did.” Flint said with a sigh.

“Why are you so opposed to this endeavor?” Thomas asked him. Flint got up from his seat again and paced back and forth along the kitchen for a minute. After that he went over to wear Thomas sat on the counter and stood in front of him, taking Thomas’ hands in his. 

“Truly?”

“Yes?” Thomas prompted.

“I’m afraid of him.”

“Of…?” Thomas glanced over to where Silver sat, looking confused.

“Of Flint.”

“Oh. Yes,” Thomas said, stroking his thumbs over Flints hands. One could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes as his fingers moved instinctually. Then he stopped abruptly and hopped up from the counter, moving toward the center of the room, Flint trailing behind him,their hands still being clasped. 

“The world offers much to fear,” Thomas said, “smallpox, for example, is becoming increasingly prevalent in these colonies and is an unseemly way to go. What no one has to fear is the likes fictional characters like the dread pirates James Flint and Long John Silver. These men are to be learned from, whether from their mistakes or their triumphs is for the reader to adjudicate. But it is finally time to separate the man you were from the man you are. From the man you will become. Freedom, James. It’s here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh thomas. you mean so well but sometimes you miss the mark by just like thiiiis much.
> 
> also! stay tuned for: adventures in nassau featuring all our faves, including jack rackham's sunglasses.


	5. no pirate king in nassau, or nothing but trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another voyage, another visit to the library. plus nassau, max, and jack!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, did you guys know that the real jack and anne died in like 1720? well i didn't until i'd already set this fic six years after that but i guess uh treasure island and also real history don't exist in this au lol

If you’d told Jim a month ago that he was about to sail to the Caribbean to an infamous island of thieves on a mission to secure a pirate vessel and become part of a legend for posterity, he would’ve cut you off from the rum. And yet, here he was, back aboard Silver and Madi’s ship, sailing for the Bahamas with two out of retirement pirates, a lord, and a princess. Suffice it to say, he pinched himself often. 

One afternoon en route to Nassau, Jim came across Captain Flint in the library. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the shelves, thumbing through a worn book. It was a serene scene, interrupted only when he eventually heard the floorboards creak under Jim’s feet.

“Hello, there,” Flint said.

“Hello,” Jim said, entering the library. He at least entertained the pretense of browsing the collection for a moment before sitting on the floor next to Flint, a stack of books a half a dozen high between them, the _Principia_ sitting ostentatiously atop the pile. 

“I never really answered your questions, did I,” Flint said. Jim tore his eyes from the cover of Newton’s book to meet Flint’s.

“What?”

“You wanted to know who were were. And who we were to each other.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” Jim looked up at him expectantly, but he just sighed and didn’t answer for a few moments. 

“I can’t imagine how you must feel right now. What an utterly unpredictable situation you’ve been thrust into,” Flint said, his tone lighter. 

“It is pretty mental.”

“That it is,” Flint said. He took note of his page in the book he’d been reading and closed it, setting it down on his other side before he spoke again.

“There is no apolitical existence, Jim. From the moment you’re born, you’re embroiled in the disputes of all the men who’ve come before you. Some of those disputes are worth having, but mostly, you get caught in the crossfire of shots that have no business being fired. But sometimes, you are given the opportunity to fire a few shots of your own. It took me too long to learn how important it is to take that opportunity,” Flint said, like that explained anything at all. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, Captain, but I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” 

At that, Flint laughed. It was a small, subdued thing, but it was still genuine.

“No, I suppose not,” he said, “but can I say, if you’d known me ten years ago, I would have said something even more cryptic and metaphorical. You’ve really lucked out.” 

“That’s hard to imagine.”

“Ha! I’d wager.” Flint took his hair out of its fraying ponytail and reassembled it into a small gray and auburn bun as he thought. He stared straight ahead, through the door to the libraryat the water stained wall, but turned to look at Jim while he spoke, his expression bare and his eyes earnest.

“Twenty years ago, I was a lieutenant in the royal navy. When my commanding officers and Thomas’ father learned about our relationship, I was discharged from service and instructed to quietly disappear, and he was interned in a prison colony, although his wife and I were told that he had died. We were all three to be considered lucky not to have been hanged." Flint spoke without any animosity in his voice, which Jim could only believe could be because he'd told this story before. He went on, "Before any of that that, we’d been trying to pass a plan through parliament, wherein which the pirates of Nassau would have been pardoned for their crimes and invited once again to be citizens of the British Empire. After coming face to face with England’s true character, I decided that wasn’t the best recourse after all.” 

“Holy shit.”

“…Yeah.” 

Jim slumped his back against the shelves, having been once again unconscious of how far forward he’d hunched to hear Flint’s tale. 

“So you became a pirate?” Jim asked, “To get your revenge?” 

“Silver would certainly call it that. Miranda–” his voice hitched a little as he said the name, “Thomas’ wife, my closest friend, Miranda, sometimes said so, too.” Flint closed his eyes and gave his head a small shake, like he was trying to clear his head of some rotten memory. “I’ll say this much,” he went on, “Although I may have been in moments blinded by rage, I believed myself to be in the pursuit of justice. What I wanted for so called civilization was not derived from a desire for retribution. I didn’t just want it to suffer for what it had done. What I wanted was instead something it deserved, something akin to the fate England wanted to affix to me. And men like me.” 

“What’s that?”

“Total annihilation.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“I’d thought I wanted to escape. But I just couldn’t go quietly. I met Silver, and we met Madi, and we started a war.” 

“What?”

“Granted, there were a few more intermediate steps, but that’s generally the gist of it.” 

“But you lost.”

“We didn’t see much of the battlefield,” Flint said. “The war was over as soon as it began.”

“What? How?”

“Silver.”

“Silver?”

“He has the uncanny ability to conjure things into existence only by speaking them,” Flint said, his eyes glinting, “But don’t tell him so. He thinks it’s me that was doing it the whole time.” 

“Is that what you were talking about back in New York? What Madi thought Silver had to apologize for?” 

“So you were listening that whole time?”

“Well, not the whole time,” Jim said, a little embarrassed, though at what, he wasn’t quite sure. Flint laughed again. 

“Now you know my story, too, Jim. I urge you to learn what you can from it. And I certainly wonder how Thomas will twist this new endeavor to contain a moral lesson, don’t you?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I look forward to reading the manuscript. Let’s make sure you feature prominently in the acknowledgements, eh, Jim?”

“You and me both, Captain.”

“Please. My name is James.” 

“Me too,” Jim said without thinking. 

“Well,” Flint said, extending his right hand, “I’m very pleased you meet you, James.”

“Thank you, James, but the pleasure is all mine,” Jim said in his best impression of an adult, and grinned as he accepted the handshake. As they sat in the library reading in peaceful equilibrium, Jim absently wondered about the kind of impression Flint had made on Nassau and just how she’d react to having him back. 

 

***

Jim hadn’t expected arriving on the shores of Nassau to be so nerve-wracking, but the anxious energy on board as Flint called “Land, ho!” was palpable and contagious. Silver looked positively feverish as he leaned against the wall of the ship watching his old home approach. Madi walked up behind him and took his hand. She whispered something in his ear that made him smile, but his eyes still looked sad as they fixed on the fort in the distance. 

Flint made his way back down to the main deck from his higher vantage point and joined Silver at his other side. He placed an arm over his shoulder and squeezed. Looking at the three of them standing there looking so vulnerable, so completely human, Jim couldn’t imagine merchant ships, let alone the king’s navy, scrambling in fear at the sight of them. 

“Hard to believe that those three were once the most feared creatures on the high seas,” a soft voice said from behind him. 

Jim turned around to see Thomas with a smirk on his face, clutching a quill pen and a few journals in his arms. 

“Sometimes I can see it. Sometimes I can’t,” Jim said.

“Certainly. That’s because no man is just one thing. That’s part of what I intend to show here. Come now,” Thomas said, “We’re making landfall soon.” 

Once again, the ship docked with less trouble than Jim anticipated. The first coast watchman who stopped them began demanding some papers but someone held him back. He pointed at Silver and said a few words and all color drained from the watchman’s face. Jim thought Silver should be proud of himself and the power of his reputation, but he just looked disgusted at the whole situation. Still, they were permitted ashore. Silver led the pack of them, his distinctive gait making it impossible to lose him in the crowd on Nassau’s beach. Madi followed behind him with James and Thomas at each others’s side in close pursuit. Jim trailed behind them a little, watching everyone’s faces as the ghosts of their past passed in front of them. Eventually he jogged and caught up with the group. 

“Where exactly are we going?” he asked.

“Where the real power lies,” Flint said, “the tavern.”

“Who’s in the tavern?” 

“Max.” 

“All right. Who’s he?”

“ _She_ is going to help us get our hands on a ship. Her and Silver go way back,” Flint said with a small shake of his head. 

“Oh. That’s good then.”

“We’ll see about that.”

 

***

The tavern was bustling. It was even more raucous than the streets of New York City had been. Everybody was whoring and drinking right in the middle of the afternoon like a bunch of animals! Jim noticed as that thought instinctually crossed his mind, and checked himself. He’d been learning that what you’re taught is right and wrong isn’t necessarily true. Jim watched Silver scan the crowd with his piercing eyes. 

“It’ll be lovely to see old Max, won’t it?” Silver said to the group at large, but his eyes drifted toward Madi for support. 

“I certainly hope so,” she said, opting for honestly instead of encouragement. Neither of them was looking at the other. Silver’s eyes were wandering up to the balcony of the second story while Madi’s were fixed behind the bar. Her breathing was a little shaky, more than Jim had noticed at all while they were on board. Finally, Silver seemed to find what he was looking for.

Jim tracked his gaze to a beautiful woman in an ornate blue dress talking with a dapper gentleman at the top of the staircase. She laughed gracefully as she sent him off, then stepped up to the bannister to survey her domain. What she saw instead was Long John Silver’s shit-eating grin staring back at her. She did not smile back. 

“Oh, shit,” Silver said. Flint clapped him on the back. 

“I think you ought to take this one,” he said. Silver gulped. He scurried up the staircase as quickly as he could. The woman met him half way down with ferocity in her eyes. Jim lingered at the base of the stairs and eavesdropped relatively discretely.

“ _He_ is supposed to be dead!” She spoke with a French accent, her tone resembling that of a stage whisper, like she and Silver were scheming something together.

“I can explain–” Silver began, but she cut him off.

“That was one of our terms, one of our _only_ terms with Madam Guthrie–”

“Madam Guthrie? Max! Surely she must be dead,” Silver interrupted. The two spoke with such rapid-fire repartee as Jim had never witnessed before.

“You and Captain Flint will cause me nothing but trouble!”

“Besides,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “we’re not going to–”

“Not going to what? Not going to try and incite something? Not going to rally a pirate crew? Don’t lie to me, John Silver. I know what kind of man you are.”

“Max, I–”

“I want you off my island. You represent no opportunity to me, this time. You have three days.” She paused and took a deep breath. Jim glanced up to see a mischievous glint in her eye, maybe even the hints of a slight smirk. “However, you may do with them what you like. Just keep me out of it!” She said, pointing an elegantly ringed finger in Silver’s face. Jim saw his brow furrow, and Max turn to leave, when Silver’s face erupted into an infectious grin.

“Max, I could kiss you! I won’t, but I could.” Instead, he held out his free hand for her to shake. She did, looking a counterintuitive combination of suspicious and proud. 

“Nassau never needed a king,” she said, stroking Silver’s thumb once before letting go of his hand, “but welcome back, anyway.” She now had a look of genuine fondness in her eyes, betrayed wholeheartedly by the smile that followed. She turned to leave once more.

“Say,” Silver stopped her again, “you don’t still happen to be in contact with the dread pirate Anne Bonny, do you?” Dread pirate? Jim thought they already had two on their crew. He wasn’t sure quite how many dread pirates he was truly prepared to handle. Regular pirates, maybe, ex-merchants and navy deserters, but this? Well, he supposed, now was as good a time as any to go all in. 

Max had stopped dead in her tracks, but her expression was still unchanged. She rolled her eyes slightly before turning back to Silver once again. 

“Yes, I think I might be able to get you an audience with her.”

“Thank you so very much, Max. I promise, you won’t regret this!”

“Mon dieu! Don’t make such promises, _Long John_ ,” she taunted him, laughing, and started heading back up the stairs. Then she called over her shoulder, “I suppose you’ll want to talk with Jack, as well?”

“Max?” Silver called, “You’re a queen.” 

She was still smiling when disappeared from view. 

 

***

 

Meeting Captain Flint had been one thing, and learning his story entirely another, but Jim wasn’t quite sure he was ready to meet these two. He knew he’d heard the name Anne Bonny before, as the horror stories of her exploits with Jack Rackham and the late Charles Vane were accessible in spades. Absently, he wondered if Billy had ever known them, and what the hell Silver was doing trying to recruit them to his cause. What business did they have with the most feared pirates on the high seas? Like Thomas had said, the legend of Flint and Silver was dead, and who knows if they’d ever truly been as powerful as stories of them suggested? This pair was another matter entirely. Jim was finally starting to consider just how in over his head he was. And, conveniently, how too very late it was to back out. Especially considering he’d been sent to be Calico Jack Rackham’s personal errand boy for the day, nominally as a gesture of good faith, to help soothe any tensions that might’ve lingered among all relevant parties. 

Jim hadn’t been present for the bulk of the negotiations. He’d been lingering in the doorway to his small room when he saw Max show Silver, Madi, and Flint into an office in the upstairs of the tavern. Although Thomas was undoubtedly going to be instrumental to this endeavor, he was a stranger to Nassau, so instead of attending, he hung around upstairs transcribing some of the notes he’d made on the voyage there. From outside the door to the meeting, Jim heard some yelling, a few gasps of surprise, the dramatic slamming of hands on tables, and few details, but when they emerged, Silver informed him they’d been leased heavily conditional use of Rackham’s ship. She’d been beached awhile since Bonny had been away collecting reconnaissance with somebody called Read. Jim imagined they’d have to endure her wrath eventually for stealing away her ship just as she’d come home, but he figured that was a problem for another day, or at least that it could wait till dinner. This afternoon, he was to be otherwise occupied.

And so Jim found himself running up to Captain Rackham on the beach and jogging slightly to keep up with his long stride as they headed down toward the _Kingston_. Rackman slowed to a halt when he finally noticed Jim scurrying at his side. He peered at him derisively over the top of his sunglasses. 

“Mr. Silver sent you to survey the ship with me, yes?”  
“Yes, sir,” Jim said. Rackham scoffed.

“You flatter me. Well, come on then, Mr. Hawkins.” He knew his name? How did he already know his name? His coattails blew in the breeze as he continued walking purposefully along the sand, but Jim did notice him slow his pace for his benefit. Jim eyed him suspiciously. 

“You don’t trust me,” Rackham said. Despite his gaudy attire and pretentious tone of voice, there remained something pedestrian about Calico Jack, something that promised Jim that he was free to speak the truth around him.

“Well,” Jim began with trepidation, “you’re a pirate. A criminal? A traitor to the crown and all that? Besides, Silver and Flint certainly don’t. They sent me to spy on you!” Jack scoffed again, though now Jim suspected that might just be his odd version of a laugh. 

“Mr. Silver is a traitor. He is a thief and a liar. These are not opinions; they are matters of fact. But Anne and myself are proper pirates. Flint and Silver are myths, designed to strike fear into the hearts of men. Anne and I do.” 

“Well, what the hell does that mean?” Jim asked, probably a bit louder than was altogether called for. But Jack just laughed again.

“Jim, understand this. Nobody steals because they think it is the right thing to do,” Jack said, putting pointed emphasis on each of those last four words, “and everything we do is for the purpose of constructing the image that others will project upon you. Silver and Flint,” he practically spat their names, “pretend that they are righteous, when in truth, they are angry, and they are lost. When a proper pirate steals, he does it to remind you that what he is stealing he in actual fact is not, as it was meant to be his in the first place. Regrettably, perhaps, the life of the pirate does not consist of a fight for the greater good.”

“But you sound just like him!” Jim blurted out.

“Whom?” Jack asked calmly. 

“Hamilton!” No recognition passed over Rackham’s face. 

“He’s a, a friend of Flint’s. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” Jim said. Jack raised what could only be described as a knowing eyebrow. 

“Look,” Jim continued,“he said that people think pirates are evil, arbitrary dealers of cruelty, when actually they’re, uh,” Jim struggled to remember Thomas’ actual words as he was sure they were defter than anything he’d come up with, “they’re actually men reciprocating cruelty already dealt.” 

“Mm hm,” Jack said, “I see.” He stopped walking and contemplated for a moment. “You know what, sonny Jim? I’m going to have a think on that and get back you. And I’d like to speak to this Hamilton fellow, should I have the chance. I know Silver and Flint and dear Max as well all want the reconnaissance from this conversation, so surely this can be arranged in exchange for my cooperation?” Jim was starting to figure that’s just how things worked around here. Sure, there was money, but favors seemed to count for more, and the value of a conversation was nearly incalculable. 

“Sure thing, Captain.”

“You know what?” he said, “Call me Jack.”

Once they arrived at the _Kingston_ , they spent an hour or so surveying her. Jack dictated while Jim scribbled a list of things to get fixed before she was to set sail, as well as some resources they’d petition somebody called Featherstone for. Though apparently that was just some mindless bureaucracy and while Jim did that, Jack was going to have a talk with Max to really secure them what they needed. Life on New Providence Island promised to be far more complicated that Jim could ever have anticipated. On their way back from the ship, Jim voiced that concern. 

“Mr. Hawkins,” Jack said gregariously, “life is not going to go the way you imagine it. My advice? Cease to have any and all expectations. Not only was my life so radically different a mere decade ago, life itself was. Yes, that’s it. Never assume and never expect. You’ll only be caught short. You can write that down if you’d like.” 

Jim only raised his eyebrows by way of response but found himself smiling after Jack had walked away. He was thinking he could get used to Jack’s fast pace and desert dry wit. Everything to do with Flint and Silver was so severe. Madi and Thomas were one step closer to normal but even after one short conversation with Jack he felt positively convivial. And Jack was right, too. Jim certainly must stop expecting things. Case in point, the bloodthirstiest pirate was the most absurd of them all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: more chilling in nassau, maxanne, largely just breezing over relevant logistics because tbh all I care about is seeing these characters interact


End file.
